Written by Adrian Jade Francisco Reuben Gonzales’ debut project ‘Keepin’ Up’ arrives somewhere between vintage pop nostalgia and the blow-burn sprawl of post-rock. A long-held memory, suspended in a grain of film—pale, worn, and hazy, where Fleeca Atmos invites you to step out of the noise of the present. Throughout the EP, analog textures, guitars, and synths conjure the ghost of a sun-faded era of pop. Rather than settling for mere retro-worship, Fleeca Atmos pulls at the edge of the sound—widening the frame to let the production breathe. The opening track, “Delorean Drives by the Old Compound,” is a poignant exploration of grief that manifests as a literal desire to outrun the clock, a fantasy of driving back to “Fairview” to bargain for what was lost. ‘Keepin’ Up’ finds its resolution in “Hermeto Hum,” after isolation through the descriptions of ‘life in space’ in “Moon’s Dust.” By going through the past, the void, and the present, the EP goes full circle, where Fleeca Atmos once begged to ‘change time’ to avoid pain, he realizes the only path he has is to change himself (“If I can change then I am free”). Gonzales writes in fragments and images, using repeated lines to act as emotional landmarks rather than a straightforward narrative. Ultimately, ‘Keepin Up’ functions as a sonic exhaling of the soul. Fleeca Atmos has crafted a debut that is both an ending and arrival. The EP proves that while we cannot drive back to the memories we’ve lost, we can find a profound, sun-drenched freedom in finally choosing to move forward. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
Author: Louis Pelingen
TRACK REVIEW: Asian Panganay – Disconnection Notice
Written by JK Caray Asian Panganay’s debut single, ‘Disconnection Notice, ‘ talks about Filipino family dynamics in an intimate, sobering way, centering on the panganay’s perspectives. As their band name suggests, Asian Panganay is an all-asian, all-Panganay, all-girls quintet. This common attribute allows them to have the personal edge that pops out of their debut single. Right off the bat, ‘Disconnection Notice’ starts strong and hollow, even vacant, though not in a bad way. A drum beat dragging itself on and simple riffs being fed through delay pedals give a sense of motion without the drive that actually brings it to life. This gives the song more dimensions in how it tackles the subject matter. The line “I don’t have anything to say/You never hear me anyway” distills all those years of neglect, accompanied by vocals that draw the line between ache and exhaustion. In a way, it acts as a parallel to the times when eldest daughters are expected to keep carrying on, even as fatigue eats them inside. For such a bold entry, the song has already generated a brand that audiences can look forward to. This can either be a pro or a con, depending on whether the band leans into it or decides to switch it up for their upcoming releases. For now, releasing ‘Disconnection Notice’ as their debut single was a necessary move to solidify the band’s striking presence in the current scene. Now that they’ve given a voice to the unheard heroes of a Filipino family, where will Asian Panganay steer the ship next? SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
TRACK REVIEW: A Piloto – Asphyxia
Written by Louis Pelingen A Piloto’s comeback song since the past two years immediately wrestles with a shocking surprise splattered through his writing: an old friend just died near his neighborhood. The chills that he encounters through that information fill his entire nerves, wracking him with a desperate plea for connection that turns into solemn avoidance at the end. It’s emotionally haphazard that A Piloto expresses well, with his raw vocals just storming through all that tense situation. The frigid indie rock spirit allows “Asphyxia” to rhythmically heave, as the grooves just charge through with shaky guitar maneuvers that explode onto the chorus. It never loses its raucous flair from the start, up till its very ending. Foggy ambience and gentle guitar atmospherics now give enough space for A Piloto. He now gets to simmer what has come to pass, calmly taking his time to breathe before moving onwards, even with the ache still weighing on his shoulders. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: mrt – all roads lead to cubao (or wherever my grave may be instead)
Written by Louis Pelingen What would inevitably become an interesting talking point later down the line is how the next generation – in this case, the Gen Alphas – will eventually carve their paths through a lot of the music spaces thriving right now. While it is early to say how they will respond and evolve past the local indie and mainstream music zeitgeists, observing how they’d touch upon the sounds and tones to assess their craft is enough to look into. At least for the time being. Case in point, the past few releases that 15 year old mrt has released last year immediately pull a lot of the alternative rock and screamo influences – think acts like Sintasan, North Sentinel, and Walktrip – that swerved into lo-fi, raw fidelities. Those two EPs – ‘hermosa’ and ‘bokeh’ – certainly tiptoed towards those tones, from mrt’s attempts to sing and scream across shambling production, to post-breakup wallowing that is peppered across his lyrics. Now, what “all roads lead to cubao (or wherever my grave may be instead)” does is sharpen his melodic instincts amidst an exercise in dynamics. It starts off with a lilting guitar passage contrasted with his composed screams, then the song breaks out into fuzzed-out shoegaze while mrt leans more on moodier singing. It effectively reinforces the emo-tinged emptiness that is buried in this track. All in all, mrt still has ways to go before he eventually hammers down the strengths in his songcrafting, yet the intrigue to do a bit more in this song does show some promise. The projects that he has currently pulled off might not blow things away, especially with how the alt-rock and hardcore scenes have only developed into fascinating nooks and crannies; there’s nothing wrong with testing things out. At the very least, he’s familiarizing himself by trying, and that’s good enough for now. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Addy Pantig – Sandstorm
Written by Rory Marshall Addy Pantig heeds the listener with one thing: a warning. “Sandstorm” is an admonition explored through metaphor, showcasing the pitfalls of lost time, delivered through soulful blues rock, and with this being her debut single, it’s as gutsy as it is dramatic. Sandstorm paints a picture of gravitas and intensity, each line like a brush stroke to the canvas. The song is set in a room that’s slowly filling up with sand, and a girl, frozen in fear, realizes it’s too late. Addy has a knack for narrative, and her lyrics are a testament to that. Her “show, don’t tell” method of songwriting set the scene so well, and because of that, the experience lof istening to the track is nothing short of cinematic. The anxiety that comes with time running out rings through in her words and is further highlighted with the dramatic instrumental. Starting slowly with a steady acoustic guitar and vocals, with added elements joining in the setup as each bar progresses: an eerie violin, the muted drums, and the bass to carry the whole track, as if each new instrument is another grain of sand filling up the room. Then the build-up comes to fruition in the chorus, crashing down like a sudden moment of realization. The blues rock style complements the storytelling style of the lyrics well, which is prominent in blues. “Sandstorm” is an exemplary showcase of the magic she weaves into the music she has a hand in: Addy’s lyrics that bring with them storytelling and narrative, paired with the quiet yet intense passion that gilds her vocal performance. We’ve seen elements like this in her past work in different projects, and it’s refreshing to hear them still standing strong in her solo work. This track is the first of hopefully many, and will no doubt lay a great foundation for any tracks she releases in the future. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
TRACK REVIEW: Kumare Harvey – VILLAIN
Written by Louis Pelingen After years of hosting in queer circles as well as frequently featuring on certain songs across other artists’ projects, Kumare Harvey’s debut single, ‘VILLAIN,’ is nothing short of astute. Across the neptunes-esque beat with burly guitars adding edge to his bars, Kumare Harvey lets everyone know first and foremost that he’s not one to be played around. He takes down those who try to talk shit and villainize him, but can only go so far as saying it online. He never softens down throughout; his attitude remains confident all across. Of course, it’s through Kumare Harvey’s performance that sells such a bombastic song, with a clear-cut delivery, an efficient flow, and a swaggering energy that struts with ease. His overall magnetic presence gives the song its glorious punches, especially to those who might try to pull him downwards and fail in miserable fashion. Haters gonna hate, as they all say. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Hev Abi – Maduming Timog
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol Around this time two years ago, Hev Abi had control of half of the top 10 spots in Billboard’s Philippines Songs chart. After emerging as a sleeper hit towards the end of 2023, he received commercial success and critical acclaim as a baby-faced lover boy with a playful charm and a hint of naughtiness — along with an occasional gangsta persona who reps the Tomas Morato area. With a good ear for beats and interpolations, a pen that flows out nothing but swag, satisfying feature appearances for other artists, Hev Abi’s tales of mischief and romance set in downtown Quezon City made a hit artist out of him, and helped kick off a landmark year for OPM in 2024. But last September, in the comments section of one of the loosies he’d been uploading to YouTube, someone complained that his new music won’t appeal to the masses. His response? “Pasabi sa masa wala nakong pakielam.” Those loosies, it turned out, were his explorations toward hazy, AutoTune-drenched mumble rap. Pivoting away from the soulful beats and smooth rapping that sent him to superstardom, he began an artistic transformation that also set off that all too familiar phenomenon of Filipino listeners clinging to familiarity, to the point where they end up stifling an artist’s creativity. But after hustling for close to half a decade as an MC, he definitely needed to explore different musical horizons that match the lifestyle he’s writing about now, and these experiments culminate in the release of his highly-anticipated second album ‘Maduming Timog’. A nod to the seedy nightlife within Timog Avenue – and, perhaps, to the Dirty South hip-hop genre that birthed the trap music and mumble rap that make up this album’s artistic DNA, this album sees Hev Abi indulge in the impulses that fuel the Kyusi underbelly. On “WELCOME2TIMOGMAGULO,” he reintroduces himself as the man who gets every party started, the street-scarred host who’s got all the drinks and drugs for everyone who’s itchin’ to sin. But as he clasps his numbed hands to confess himself to the Lord, he admits that he does all this to escape his loneliness – a foreshadowing that would come to haunt this album as it progresses. But what does he do with this bit of self-reflection in the meantime? If the next two tracks are any indication, it seems that Hev Abi has made up his mind in continuing these bad habits. For “AYUSIN ANG SIRA,” he gets in his R&B bag to belt about never wanting to let go of his demons. The seductiveness he usually reserves for his most romantic declarations works so well when he talks about the joys of getting high, and the autotune in his voice adds to the zoned-out bliss of his drug-induced numbness. After pre-gaming in the first four songs, Hev Abi kicks off the party in earnest on the album’s lead single, “ALL NIGHT LONG,” a bouncy synth-funk track whose echoes of golden age hip-hop bring a feel-good atmosphere to a set of already-loaded songs. His romantic pursuits in this joint also commences a run of the kind of songs he usually does best, except the consummate lover boy is hardly anywhere to be seen. Sure, Hev Abi can still turn on his charm and try to be devoted to just one woman, as heard on tracks like “ISANG GABI LANG,” and on the Jess Connelly collab “AWAY,” where the R&B singer’s calm, breezy singing is a pleasing response to Hev’s frantic platitudes for a girl he swears is the only one he’s seeing. But the Hev Abi we’ll be hearing throughout the album is a callous heartbreaker who answers to his most wicked impulses and won’t think twice about seeing other women. His hedonistic pursuits are best captured on “WALANG HIYA,” where Hev Abi keeps up his prowess in putting his rendezvouses – unbridled debauchery now included – into some of the smoothest and most cinematic rhymes in OPM. (“Di ka nagmamahal pero andito ka parin nagbababad / Sa usok na binuga ko, binuga nya, binuga mo, bilog ang buwan”) Halfway through the album, however, we get to a set of songs that continue the vibe of a delightfully devilish night out but doesn’t do much to progress the narrative the start of the album had suggested. Past the Manila Sound-sampling “ASO’T PUSA” interlude, we hear Hev Abi and frequent collaborator LK brag about racing down the Skyway on “SIZZLING,” and on a rare all-English number in “FADED OFF” with Manila Grey, Hev Abi tries once again to make amends for his sins. But while the latter track is a fairly decent collaboration, it’s clear that Hev Abi has a long way to go in writing English lyrics that are as dynamic and exciting as his writing in Tagalog. Furthermore, while tracks like “LIL SHWTY” and “NAGHAHANAP SILA” have memorable samples and hooks, it really feels as though we’re beginning to hear the party wind down to what should be its natural conclusion. Except it doesn’t. In the rage track “2PACCIN,” Hev Abi tries to restart the excitement by enumerating everything that makes up his idea of party, but all it does at this part of the tracklist is make everyone who can sense an incoming hangover leave. It does seem he can sense this, too, though: the last three songs on ‘MADUMING TIMOG’ see him telling his lover that he’s choosing his hedonistic lifestyle over her. This non-resolution would’ve been alright for the kind of character he’s portraying – if only he hadn’t jumped the shark after meandering for so long. “HANGGA’T MAY ORAS PA ‘KO” lacks the slightest bit of sincerity that would’ve made up for the necessary absence of his aura, and the strain in Hev Abi’s voice as he’s trying to channel 808s-era Kanye West isn’t helping either. And listening to “FROM TIMOG MAGULO, WITH LOVE” and “HONEYMOON” feels like drying out in the Timog Avenue sunrise, listening to the
ALBUM REVIEW: We Are Imaginary – s/t
Written by Lex Celera For the most part, We Are Imaginary has played along the ballpark of noise pop, shoegaze, and jangly lo-fi when it comes to their sound. Each of their last four albums plays with the formula in different ways – a reflection of the band’s changing members. Early on, sometime before the release of 2010’s ‘One Dreamy Indeterminate Hum,’ the band even had to change its name. With its latest release, We Are Imaginary settles on something new and interesting, enough for it to be a self-titled album, with the record to be sold on vinyl via Eikon Records. Not only is ‘We Are Imaginary,’ their fifth album, a feat in “remaining true” to their sound, so to speak, but it is also a symbolic act to release their fifth album as a self-titled full-length album 17 years since their debut. As if to say that the band has planted an anchor against the currents of time that bears their name – a sign of confidence. It’s worth mentioning that this is supposedly the last by their longtime bassist Vhall Bugtong, who migrated to North America. The new setup includes Ahmad and Khalid Tanji as the band’s twin backbone, joined by Jerros Dolino of Megumi Acorda and Spacedog Spacecat. We Are Imaginary’s self-titled album is worth listening to not because of their proximity to bands we already enjoy–they do wear their influences on their sleeves in interviews–but to see how they’ve planted their feet in their musical journey. The band knows how to be both emotionally evocative and earnestly relatable, and it shows. The album’s sonic palette is primed by the singles that were released prior: “Pinkish Hue,” kept in their pockets since 2015, puts the band’s romantic lyrics at bay with fierce mood-driven fuzziness. “Stockholm” and its happysad structure don’t resolve themselves despite soaring up in energy. The same with “Object Of My Affliction” and its nuanced breakdown two-thirds of the way. “Greatest Kill” emerges as a track that I keep going back to; it’s built for detached navel gazing. Throughout the album, I feel a poignant dissonance. As a whole, the album comes across as concrete and certain, and well curated, thanks to its one year in preproduction. But why do I feel a permeating sense of melancholy while listening? How can the album talk about surrender and yearning while remaining measured, almost clinical, in its arrangement? Both can exist, in music and in life, which is a testament to the band’s own songwriting. Frontman Ahmad’s lyricism cut through the production in a way that they have always done it: abstract, unfettered, and accepting of its own feelings. This time, the result feels more cohesive when looked at as a full project. This band setup, this new approach to their sound, just feels right. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: To Love Everything Ever Again – A Post-Overdose Confession
Written by Louis Pelingen One main element that tends to surround religious music is its focus on devotion, where praises will be written and sung as a means to allow God’s blessings to reach within the human spirit–a characteristic that becomes a purposeful motif. Generally focused on that universal feeling of letting the holy grace of God seep into every individual singing those songs. Yet, what tends to be rather uncommon is writing religiously themed songs less from a devotional standpoint, but more of a personal confession. A peek inside vulnerability that grounds the religious experience, isolating itself to the individual going through the ups and downs that they encounter throughout their lives. Through Janpol Estella’s solo project, To Love Everything Ever Again, he emphasizes that fractured religious experience. Compiling waves of glitchy synths, hazy vocal effects, and chamber pop flourishes to envelop stories of fluctuating faith with weight. If his debut EP, ‘Nineveh,’ wades upon murky waters, then his debut album, ‘A Post-Overdose Confession,’ swims through it. It’s a case of delving deeper into that struggling abyss, where he confronts his religious fervor as mental health, addiction, and environmental decay become a factor of how he tries – and crashes apart – on holding onto that spiritual belief. Clinging onto it so hard for a hopeful path to come forward as he tries to remind himself of dreams he wants to achieve, until he finds out that it doesn’t come through so easily. This crushing arc eventually hits its hardest point on the title track and “Nothing But The Blood.” Both songs hit rock bottom as any sliver of peace is very much gone, but how Estella portrays God and Jesus becomes important here. God is this divine being that he thinks has given up on him and becomes the cause of the pain inflicted upon him, and Jesus is this human person whose own struggles he can relate to, and even may be a symbol of light that he could still hold onto. It’s why, despite the rewritten hymn of the latter song describing the ragged acceptance of all that pain that has fractured his faith, hope, and soul, Jesus’ presence becomes a metaphor. A symbol of a peaceful exhale that can allow him to eventually heal. This narrative perspective colors how the instrumentation and production are presented. Glitchy electronics now shamble across dance-adjacent rhythms, seething vocal effects and synths are implemented to amplify Estella’s emotional throughline, and the brighter chamber pop elements are carefully placed down with intent. An expansion and emphasis of tones that straddle between the lines of bliss and ache, a direction that firmly exposes Estella’s captivating experimental swerving in two lanes. The first is how the glitchier rhythms across “My Own Sodom” to “Need to Control” become curiosities that don’t land their fullest strides. Opening up more melodic flair, yet lacks a strong enough hook to keep it sticking altogether. The second is how leaning into those synthetic tones and focused melodic flourishes only makes Estella’s songwriting hit like heavy bricks. The scorching distortion clipped around his voice and electronic embellishments on “COP30 (Never Enough)” let his emotions become devastatingly crumbled, bursting out of the seams with every refrains; the stirring one-two punch of the fluttering raw piano recordings of “Perhaps” that transitions to the crackling synth affectations of “A Post-Overdose Confessions” becomes a quaint reflection turning evocatively solemn; the punchier drums on ‘Unreachable Serenity” contrast well around violin swells and gauzy textures; the post-rock swerve of ‘Nothing But The Blood’ that ramps up its melodic prowess, eventually going all out with the blast beats and guitar solos that revs Estella’s version of the hymn to a different level. All of it resting down to the spare organ tune of “God, I’m finally letting this go.” Ending the album where, perhaps, Estella has found that light once more. What ‘A Post-Overdose Confession’ unveils is an exploration of faith that was broken but can still be recovered, all through Estella’s ways to amplify the stories that felt more personal to him in the long run. Testing the waters on how he can deliver such emotional scope, and landing with it the most striking way possible, fractures and all. A confession as a means to accept the feeling of giving up entirely, until that light starts showing up in the darkness, where hope can blossom once again. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: marcel – marcel
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol When you live through cold weather all the time, you’re always going to find ways to make the warmth you get linger within you. That’s why it makes sense that some of the artists we turn to for moody expressions of emotions, be it through words or music, come all the way from frigid Canada. And somewhere up in Montreal, Johann Mendoza committed to tape sounds that would allow his feelings to circulate through the dense winds of a Quebec autumn. On the self-titled debut album of this project, marcel explores melancholia through slowcore textures and melodies—combine that with its grayscale cover art of clouds and chain-link, and you get a collection of songs that chronicles the doomed fate of young love and its complex phases. This theme is set in motion with the album opener “journal entry,” which acts as a prologue for a story of heartbreak told across seven tracks. On “just one of those days,” marcel recalls the first memory of a past lover. His lyrics on partaking in the reckless abandon of a night out are elevated by the delicate drone of a string quartet – or, at least, a guitar resembling a string quartet, which brings an organic feeling within an otherwise processed soundscape. It’s like catching the cool breeze and falling leaves while walking wasted in downtown Montreal, although the textures do overstay their welcome, to the point where it could leave you wanting to take shelter, lest you get hypothermia. But on “these rotten nails,” we’re taken away from the streets and into the rooms of two individuals processing heartbreak in dim lighting. The chemistry between marcel and guest vocalist kelly elizabeth is palpable as they sing about their perspectives on a failed relationship, though any hope of reconciliation between the two characters is nowhere to be seen: the acoustic guitar-driven half of the song dissolves into a slower, gloomier instrumental as the two singers wonder where things went wrong. It’s fascinating to hear a story being told through the contrast between two guitars that sound completely different from one another. This creative use of slowcore drones and the drama laced within the lyrics are two things that make “these rotten nails” a highlight within the project. “parc hang,” like “just one of those days,” is a song that sees marcel reminiscing about a night out, but with the context of the track that immediately precedes it, “parc hang” becomes the sound of a memory slipping away from the mind of someone who’s ready to move on. The guitars make you feel like you’re watching a videotape of a park while it’s being demagnetized – to the point where all you can see is static, and this is about the only time on this album where you’ll hear them be this distorted. The intro of “end of the line” greets us with the most ornate blend of sounds in the album. Listening to the mix of acoustic and electric guitars and a violin is like stepping into the woods for soul-searching before letting out your frustrations through a chamber-emo song. Like in “these rotten nails,” the dichotomy of sounds within this song adds another level of storytelling, and kelly elizabeth’s backing vocals – which mixes so well with marcel’s lead vocals – is the icing on the cake for another satisfying number. Because marcel mashed together sounds and genres so frequently and so well on the first part of this album, the last two songs, “porch” and “when it’s time to leave,” can be a bit middle-of-the-road by comparison. These songs play their genres straight: the twang of the guitars in “porch” more strongly suggests country-tinged Americana that is well outside the frosty sonic palette you’ve been hearing so far, and the instrumentation in “when it’s time to leave” is the clearest and barest out of all the tracks on the album. But perhaps the cleaner, less hazy state these songs are in, along with their more cautiously optimistic lyrics, represent marcel actually fulfilling his promise of moving on from heartbreak – or, at least, doing so while hoping he and his lover can rekindle the flame someday soon. Nevertheless, these are both decent performances, and it’s still nice to see the snow thaw out for the grass of spring. Though some of the slowcore drones feel like they’re holding on for too long, marcel still showed some strength as a budding singer-songwriter in the indie space with this album. It’s clear that he has an ear for making films out of the sounds he’s working with, a pen that easily captures the catharsis of a broken heart, and hands that let these two elements live in symbiosis, one track at a time. While the final stretch of songs do come off sonically inconsistent with the rest of the album, they’re still good enough to show marcel’s potential in branching out towards other genres of music, and with the core of this album being in a genre that can feel constrained within one particular sound, he might stand a chance to tell his stories well as the seasons slowly change in Montreal. Support the art and the artist: